


The Bake is Afoot

by luckydip



Category: Enola Holmes (2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Baking, Cheftide, F/M, Gen, Sibling Rivalry, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:02:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28290585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckydip/pseuds/luckydip
Summary: Baking. The process of cooking using a dry heat. Probably the oldest cooking method, but also not one of the many skills that Mother tutored me in.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	The Bake is Afoot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aeroscope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeroscope/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide Aeroscope! I saw this prompt and couldn't resist. I hope you enjoy it. :)
> 
> Thanks to R for the spagbeta.

Baking. The process of cooking using a dry heat. Probably the oldest cooking method, but also not one of the many skills that Mother tutored me in. She always said that my education was designed so that I could be anything I set my mind to, but on reflection, that pointedly did not include any skills that would have made me a successful housewife. Mother had left any task that could have been considered a wife’s role to Mrs Lane – and compensated her handsomely for it.

Still, chemistry is a subject she had shown a great interest in, and what is baking if not chemistry? I refuse to believe that baking as a task is beyond my capabilities.

My thoughts are interrupted by a shout and clash of metal from the kitchen area on my right. ‘Honestly, surely this is a wife’s work. I don’t understand why I’m here.’ Mycroft complains as he bends to pick up the baking trays he has let fall to the floor.

‘Well dear brother, maybe that’s because you have yet to persuade a woman to marry you?’ I give him the perfect lady smile, one that even Mrs Harrison would be proud of as Mycroft splutters in anger.

In front of us I can see Sherlock’s lips twitch slightly in amusement as he sets out his own ingredients. Sherlock, I am discovering, has a particularly affinity for chemistry amongst his many talents, and I fear that this will steer him well in this competition.

Anyway, enough with my competitors – I must focus on my own creations if I am to succeed. It is pointless to waste energy on things I am unable to control. The challenge that has been set for us is to produce 12 Cornish pasties. This is not a delicacy I have ever tried myself, but the instructions we have been provided with contain ample detail and give me faith in my ability to complete the task.

I look down at the recipe on the surface in front of me. My first step is to gather the ingredients for a short crust pastry. Simple enough. Next I must rub the butter into the flour in order to produce a mixture that resembles breadcrumbs. This step does not require my full attention which gives me time to observe the others cooking in the tent.

Edith is making great headway and is already rolling out her pastry on the counter in front of her. This is unsurprising – she runs her own café and repeatedly shows herself to be the type of woman who is not afraid to get her hands dirty. I also suspect she is enjoying any opportunity to show up my brother – this is evident from the looks she keeps shooting his way.

Next to her is Tewskesbury. A Viscount baking! In a competition amongst commoners no less. Whatever will they say in the papers? I am still glad that he was prepared to join us as it removed any excuse that my brother could put forward. I had learned during our first encounter that Tewkesbury is able to cook so it is not a surprise to discover he can bake as well.

Sherlock’s progress is harder to identify from my current location and as I have yet to see my middle brother flustered in any situation it is difficult to ascertain how well he is coping. Glancing to my right,

I attempt to stifle my laughter as Mycroft reaches into his mixing bowl and manages to coat his front in flour. It is not the most successful attempt, that I will admit. But I will not apologise – the distaste on Mycroft’s face as he is liberally coated with white dust is one of the most joyous sights I have ever seen. Trying to regain some control of the situation he complains. ‘Where would one even eat a Cornish pasty?’

‘Cornwall?’ Edith comments, the serious expression around her mouth entirely at odds with the glee lighting up her eyes.

‘I have made many trips to Cornwall in my life and I have never seen one of these.’

Sherlock speaks without turning around to see what is happening, I suspect he is able to deduce most of the situation. ‘They gained popularity in the 17th and 18th centuries as a meal for miners. Likely due to the fact that they can be easily reheated and eaten without any cutlery.’

Mycroft screws up his nose in distaste, possibly at the comparison to a miner, and I find myself having to supress another laugh. This day has been worth any effort on my part, purely for Mycroft’s responses.

Edith doesn’t even try to cover hers. ‘Maybe you should try and see how the other half lives, Mr Holmes?’

The very thought appears to invoke genuine distress in my brother. ‘I don’t think so, thank you, Miss Grayson.’

No matter, back to my own pastry and I take more pride than I expect in watching it come together as I’d seen Mrs Lane do frequently throughout my childhood. Dusting the worktop with flour, I drop my pastry onto it and grab the rolling pin.

‘Not bad for someone who doesn’t know how to embroider.’ I hear from over my shoulder.

‘Embroidering and baking are two very different skillsets.’ Baking has some use, I am not averse to the idea of learning to feed myself. Embroidery is a task where I have yet to see the benefits to myself. Even for a case, as Sherlock occasionally insists. Still, there is not much heat in my words. Tewkesbury has shown himself to be a fine friend and I do take pleasure in his company.

‘I’m just surprised that you take an interest in any skill that might be taught at a finishing school.’

‘Why? Are you concerned that your mother would start planning for us to be married?’

A light flush crossed Tewkesbury’s cheeks and I grin in victory, before turning back to my pastry for the competition that I am most interested in winning.  
Rolling out the pastry and cutting into shape seems to be a simple task, but my first issue comes when I try to add the fillling. How much? Will the pastry expand when cooking, or will the vegetables shrink? Too many variables for which I do not possess the answer. I glance behind me at Tewkesbury and Edith to gauge how much they are adding but they are both past that step and are finishing folding their pasties.

I ponder for a moment how to work through this before an idea hits me. The recipe provides the required ingredient for thirteen pasties, so all I need do is divide it equally before adding to the pastry case. Using my chopping board, I create thirteen equal piles of meat and vegetables before transferring them to the each circle of pastry for folding.

Once my pasties are ready for baking, I examine them for a moment before placing them in the oven. They are not as uniform in nature as Miss Edith’s but they are all the same approximate size and shape which pleases me. Mother did always say I could do anything I put my mind to and these are positive first steps.

With my pasties cooking I take a look around the tent – Mycroft has now somehow got flour on his moustache. I wish dearly that I owned a camera to capture the moment for posterity. Sherlock, as always, maintains his composure throughout the process and is almost impossible to read. Edith is leaning against the counter as if this is something she does every day (as it may well be) and chatting away to Tewkesbury.

Opening the oven door would obviously interfere with too much with the temperature and while I know that I cannot do anything to speed up the process, I find it difficult to resist the urge to crouch down and watch the cooking process through the glass.

My timer pings to indicate the baking time is over and I remove them from the oven and critically examine them. In one there is liquid seeping from a hole in the corner but the rest have held their shape. I take the leaking pastry – now fully appreciating the reasoning behind a baker’s dozen – and cut it open. A cloud of steam escapes and it excites me to find that the steam smells delicious.

With only a couple of minutes left on the clock, I turn back to my now standard dozen and gently pile them onto a plate for the judging and sneakily check out my competition.

Both Edith and Tewskesbury are finished – their pasties demonstrating their prior expertise in baking. Tewkesbury grins as he realises I have caught up with them. ‘I was going to offer to share, but you don’t seem to need it.’

‘It appears that with you, there is no need for me to cook as you are already proficient. Instead I could solve cases while you looked after the house.’

Tewkesbury splutters – he is progressive, certainly more so than his grandmother, but I don’t believe that he is ready to be a house husband just yet.

He doesn’t have a chance to respond as a bell rings and ‘pans down’ is shouted across the tent.

An hour later I am walking out of the tent, a bag of pasties in one hand. Tewskesbury, ever the gentlemen, offers to carry Edith’s bag so she is free to hold the trophy with the other. Sherlock appears behind me, the first time we have made contact since I saw him observing my creations with his critical eye. He gives me a smile. ‘You are constantly full of surprises, Enola. Well done.’

He then turns and quickens his pace to catch up with Mycroft, who is striding ahead in his effort to put the whole afternoon out of his head. On the contrary, I intend to remember this day for the remainder of my days.

I hold out my arm for Tewskesbury to take as we walk towards the carriages. These matters of social etiquette mean something to him and when I am in such a good mood, I am happy to indulge. ‘Do you think he will recover?’

I laugh, ‘Mycroft? I am sure he will find some spin that will turn this to his advantage. He always does.’

‘Shall we head home, I think Mother will be shocked to see how you have taken to baking.’

Most things seem to shock Tewkesbury’s Mother so it would not surprise me in the least. Although in this case, I have slightly to agree with her. Baking is the one skill that a ‘proper’ young woman’s education would have taught me that I would like to explore.

If only for the expression on my elder brother’s face.


End file.
